Unwritten in the Stars
by dante de cervantes
Summary: TVverse, femslash She took me to the beach, took off my clothes and took away my homosexual virginity...


Title: Unwritten In The Stars  
Author: dante de cervantes  
Fandom: Gossip Girl  
Pairing: Blair/Serena  
Rating: M  
Summary: She took me to the beach, took off my clothes and took away my homosexual virginity.

Author's Notes: Let's all assume that this is after 1x03, Poison Ivy. I noticed that in ep 9, after S flags a taxi, B takes her by the hand and S is all like, "Blair!"… and what was cute was, she was _biting her lip_. Oh, and I don't own the awesomeness that is Gossip Girl.

**UNWRITTEN IN THE STARS**

_**by**_

_**dante de cervantes**_

She took me to the beach, took off my clothes and took away my homosexual virginity.

Her hair danced and glowed with slivers of full moon that made the waves as high as ever.

We were as high as ever. We didn't care.

She had her hands on my shoulders. Then she slid them down my upper arm.

She was always touching me, I never minded.

I didn't know that was how she slipped the straps of my dress off.

Then she pulled me close, into her arms. I felt her palms graze over my back like they didn't touch me at all.

But her fingers burned every inch of skin she came into contact with, despite the cold.

And fuck, was it cold.

So cold that my teeth were chattering.

Then she kissed my bare shoulder in a way that made me shudder, convicting the contrastingly hot need to lessen the clothes between us.

I didn't know that she unzipped my Alexander McQueen.

It fell to my ankles and I was finally aware.

She dutifully complied with my unspoken request.

She pulled back, hunger all fired up in her eyes.

She was going to do me over.

And I was going to let her do that to me, just this once, because I knew that I'd be lying if I said I didn't want her to.

She grabbed my hand and she let herself plop into the sand, dragging me along, falling on top of her.

She doubled up, thinking that this was such good fun, and I could only manage an embarrassed smile. She was so beautiful, eyes crinkling like it was normal, fucking your same-sex _best _friend on a private beach.

It wasn't fair… But what else could I have done? I was already half-naked.

And she wasn't drunk.

Which meant she wasn't going to forget this anytime soon.

Then she kissed my embarrassment away, replaced it with some of that hunger of hers.

I grabbed her head with my hand and bit her lips with my teeth that were chattering no more.

Instead, they stained themselves red.

She whimpered in pain and I tasted copper like when I got that paper-cut from folding the sixth letter I planned on sending her while she was at boarding school.

My tongue felt hers move as they licked at her wounds.

Served her right, for ever leaving me.

I wanted to say that I hated her.

But I didn't mean that. I tried, but I just can't.

I wanted to say that I didn't need her.

But I wouldn't have meant that either.

I wanted to say that I didn't want her anywhere near me.

No. Not when I was pressing myself into every crevice of her faultlessness, molding myself to fit her jigsaw.

I wanted to say that she could. Just. Fuck. Off.

But that... That, I probably meant.

She was sitting comfortably on her ass and I had to be the one on my knees.

What was I silently begging for?

My hands which had a mind of their own, pulled her leather jacket (very bad-ass, S?) off and tossed it next to my dress that lay forgotten on the strand.

My tongue finds her neck and I taste her and her scent, sandalwood and patchouli.

It was something that had itself dangling in front of me, being around her, always graced by that alluring scent, brewery-laden or not. I finally got a taste of it that night, licking long and hard.

It meant something to me, that I couldn't even taste anyone who was under 45-proof influence.

Then I bit again. And she jerked.

It was real, it was actually happening.

And the reality was, I still had a shirt to deal with.

But she managed to land me on my back, taking the shirt off herself, ridding me off the problem.

I still hated how she kept her pants on the whole time.

She dug her fingers inside of me, my heels dug deeper into the sand.

So vulnerable, so weak. I hated feeling that.

I hated that I wanted it more if it was _her_ making me suffer from power lapse like this.

Such sweet torture.

I felt fireworks explode inside of me and I saw blurry stars up above.

I was crying.

* * *

After we did it, she asked me about Eleanor and I said that I loved my mother.

Then she said she loved me enough to understand.

It's sad, I didn't know what she meant by that.

I wondered if she'd still love me in the morning.

When I woke up, she had a long arm enveloping my waist.

It was still dark and she, still asleep.

I could feel her trembling from the morning breeze of the tides.

Then I noticed that her Chanel leather jacket was wrapped around me.

I thought it was a little cliché, the protective gesture warming me up even more.

I cuddled closer, into her, smelling the sea and its siren.

And I tried to cover the both of us with the jacket. It was hard, since she was taller and all, but she tightened her grip on me instinctively, banishing the concept of 'personal space'.

After that, the jacket fit rather snugly.

_This_ was cliché.

* * *

When Eleanor found out she threw a freak-fit.

It was amazing how my mother can pour herself some wine, slap me, and shout herself senseless in the span of a minute.

"_**WHORE!"**_

Being called a whore by jealous sorority girls was one thing. Being called a whore by your own mother is another thing entirely. It actually _hurt_. Maybe it was because my cheek stung where she slapped me.

"_Did she not have sex with Nate?"_

Great, she knew that too. Must've heard it from brunch that one morning.

"_Now she gets you to hike up your Eleanor Waldorf skirt?"_

One, I did not hike it up, _she _did.

And two, it was McQueen.

"_Do you really want me to die of shame?"_

If I wanted you to die of shame, I would've dated a Humphrey. Or better yet, follow Waldorf women tradition and marry Nate. He would've run off with Chuck any day.

"_It was wrong, letting Harold have his way every now and then. I am not making the same mistake again. I will not have her doing you every chance she gets."_

Who says she gets another chance?

"_How many times do I have to tell you to not get drunk out of your mind with her?! HOW MANY GOD DAMN TIMES, BLAIR?!"_

I want to leave out the part where we weren't drunk. I didn't want her thinking that I actually did it for something other than sexual pleasure. Because if I did, that would be love.

And I was so not in love with my best friend.

"_Do not do this to me, Blair. The whole fiasco with your father was more than enough."_

It stung, when she brought Daddy into it. He had nothing to do with this. It wasn't his fault that I couldn't…

"—_couldn't even refuse her, could you?"_

For the first time, I didn't want Eleanor to care anymore. She never did, why would she start

now?

"_No daughter of mine…"_

She couldn't even finish that sentence. She must've remembered that I took residence inside of her womb for a good nine months.

"_If I ever see you with her again, I'll—"_

This time, it was me who wouldn't let her finish that.

That was one thing she could not make me do.

That was one thing I couldn't even make _myself_ do.

I walked out.

There you go, a very normal Waldorf dinner.

* * *

It wasn't surprising that I ended up at The Palace.

I knocked on the van der Woodsen door and I lost all sense when Serena opened it about a minute later.

Lazy eyes that just woke up, hair perfectly messed out of bed, she was wearing her VS purple and blue plaid pajamas.

I didn't know why, but I thought she looked as fuckable as ever.

She invited me in and closed the door.

"What's wrong?"

"That I love you and everyone thinking that it is."

All I said before kissing her to her bed.

It was so fucked up how 'everyone' did not exclude me.

Eleanor was right. Serena could do me every chance she got, she didn't even have to try.

* * *

Chuck Bass was busy loitering in the kitchens one, nice Saturday morning.

"That smells scrumptious. What are you making, Alfonso?" he asked one of the sous-chefs, adjusting his bowtie in front of one of the pans, which Chuck found to be a convenient reflective surface.

"Grilled cheese with truffle oil. A special request."

Chuck's brown brows furrowed closer together. Grilled cheese _wit truffle _oil? That wasn't on the menu… unless you were connected.

"For a van der Woodsen?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I know everything." His usual cryptic reply to that question.

Alfonso opted to say nothing.

"And who's bringing this up?"

"These." Alfonso corrected, pointing to a slice of tiramisu cheesecake. "Jimmy is."

Chuck smiled and gave his bowtie a final tug, making it perfectly taut.

"Hey, tell him that I'm going to deliver these myself."

"Sure thing, Mr Bass."

Chuck felt like he wanted to do something… domestic.

* * *

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"That's room service." S said, pulling away from my lips, making me whine in protest. She playfully ruffled my hair before hopping off the coach.

"Go wear a robe or something." I told her. I didn't like the idea of some random room service boy laying his eyes on her lack of coverage.

"B, it's only room service." She dismissed, pulling her tank top down because somehow, in the process of our hot, morning, make-out session, it managed to defy gravity and pull itself up to reveal her very flat (and firm, my hands felt) stomach.

"Besides, you're wearing my pajama top."

Well, I _was, _and her blue and purple plaid VS PJs were growing on me.

Then she went off to answer the door.

* * *

Chuck knocked thrice.

Pretty soon, he was face to face with a very ruffled-looking Serena van der Woodsen.

"Chuck?" Serena's jaw dropped.

"Yes, Chuck. Glad to see me?"

"Actually, I'm glad to see the food." Serena said, rather too honestly to Chuck's distaste, eyeing the trolley that contained her grilled cheese and cheesecake.

"My, my, my. It looks like you had a rough and rowdy night. No wonder you're hungry." He slurred, letting his eyes travel from Serena's messy hair, to her scanty tank top and finally, to her plaid pajama bottoms.

Chuck didn't miss the pajama top… at all.

Serena's eyes widen in alarm. He struck a string. He wanted to see if he could actually strum a chord.

"Did Nate pay you a little visit last night?" he asked in a tone that was clearly malignant.

To Chuck's surprise, his question is answered differently.

"S, did you tell them to bring extra truffle oil?"

And he saw Blair Waldorf pop out of nowhere, over Serena's shoulder, in nothing but her panties and… was that the other half of Serena's pajama set?

Chuck didn't miss the pajama bottom… at all.

When Blair saw him, she looked horrified for a second, like she was caught doing something really bad, before saying, "Ugh, _you_ brought the food?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to bring some Chucktiscide." Chuck replied sarcastically at Blair.

"Well, go back and get a can. Infact, don't come back at all."

"Why is she acting like she has menopause?" Chuck asked Serena, who could only shrug her shoulders. Shoulders that Blair's hands rested on a few seconds later.

"And since when were you a bellboy?" Blair asked, giving him a derogatory look while comfortably resting her chin on Serena's shoulder.

The boy raised an eyebrow at the brunette and said nothing more because he knew he was no match for a Waldorf basking in van der Woodsen afterglow. He pushed in the trolley and said, "You ladies have a nice day."

Serena gave a weak smile, "You too, Chuck."

And Blair… Blair mouthed a 'buh-bye', waving mockingly at him.

The door shut it in his face.

"I already did, Serena. I already did." He said to the door, as if she could've heard his reply.

Chuck Bass walked down the hall with a new bounce in his step.

He just saw something Gossip Girl would've died to see.

* * *

She takes me back to that beach, takes me back to our first time.

"_Juliet, when we made love, you used to cry. You said I love you like the stars above, I love you til I die."_

She quotes Dire Straits and she makes me want to take off this fifteen-thousand dollar Versace dress with the diamond studded skirt. Isn't she something?

My back's on the same sand again and I'm sixteen once more.

Sixteen, scared, and in denial.

Not anymore. There's so much that seven years can do.

The tables and the bodies turn and now I am twenty-three… and on top.

I look down at her and she looks up at me.

She looks up at me in every single way I want her to and I look down at her and see every single thing that I want.

That I need.

It almost hurts how much I fucking _feel _for her.

My fingers trace her face lovingly. They were on a familiar landscape.

Her lips, oh I adore her lips, they move under my touch. It takes a while for me to snap out of their pretty pink to realize that she was saying something.

"I'm here and I'm ready. I'll always be here and I'll always be ready. Give me til' the end, stay mine…"

She inhales deeply and slowly. Two times as slow for me because everything was in slow-motion, like in movies, when something really remarkable happens, like a start of a food fight, or when Marissa died in the OC… or when someone bends down on one knee.

But she didn't plan this, she's not on bent on a knee, she doesn't have a ring on her, she's not Nate.

She's not on a knee, but she's on her back. She doesn't have a ring, but she has my heart. She's not Nate, she's Serena.

It's not written in the stars, I know.

But I couldn't have cared less, because she was going to be legally mine.

"Blair Cornelia Waldorf, will you—"

Yes, Yes, Yes. A thousand times over.

"— S, seriously… Why wouldn't I?"

**- fin -**

**Feedback is appreciated… smiley**


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